Time After Time
by A.G. Hart
Summary: Dean's in for a taste of his own medicine when he meets the new girl in Lebanon. Will she be able to teach an old dog new tricks? Or did life just get a teensy more complicated for Dean? Be kind (or constructive, constructive is always welcome). Note: Chapter 1 altered slightly. No change in story. Don't miss the sequel: Dark Side of the Moon! It's up!
1. chapter 1

She entered the liquor store, her wavy golden hair bouncing in a ponytail pulled behind her head. The bell above the door announced her arrival. She quickly scanned the establishment, noting that it was quite a bit larger than it appeared from the outside. _Maybe they will have a decent selection_ , she thought.

To her right was a gruff looking older woman with obviously dyed, pitch black curly hair that just brushed the woman's shoulders. As her eyes fell upon the woman, it was almost as if the woman could sense her and the woman turned her head to look directly at her.

"Help you find somethin' sweetheart?" the woman asked in the voice of a lifelong smoker with a withered face to match.

"Wine?" the blonde asked with a cheerful smile, thinking that this must be the "Bea" in "Bea's Adult Beverage Store."

Turning her head away from the blonde, Bea pointed toward the back of the store.

"Thanks!" the blonde replied, as she headed that way. She scoped out the aisles as she passed, marveling at the shapes, sizes, colors and variety that surrounded her. She had seen liquor bottle arrays at bars, in restaurants and the like, but she had no idea there were this many choices. _New hobby as a taste tester, maybe?_ She mused to herself.

Consumed by her choices of wine, she only peripherally heard the bell above the door as it sounded for another customer.

"Hey, Bea," she heard a masculine voice say. "How're you today, beautiful?"

"You scoundrel," Bea responded, somehow making her raspy voice sly sounding. "I ain't been beautiful since you were in diapers." Bea chuckled a little.

"It's the beauty on the inside I see," the man replied.

It was obvious to the blonde woman, just vaguely hearing the exchange, that this was their normal routine.

Bea guffawed. "The only thing inside me is nicotine and alcohol."

The man wasn't swayed. "And those, my friend, are beautiful things."

Bea let out a hearty laugh as the blonde could hear footsteps moving into the store.

The comedy routine over, she refocused on the selection in front of her, again wondering why a city with a population less than 300 would have such a variety. She began picking up bottles, studying labels and Googling reviews to figure out what she ultimately wanted to purchase. The woman finally decided on a couple of bottes; one red, one white.

Her prize in hand, she started back towards the front of the store. Her phone beeped and vibrated, indicating that her lives had been refilled on Candy Crush. A recent obsession, she immediately started playing as she walked, the rest of the store fading away as she concentrated on matching the colors.

She was so engrossed in her game, that she didn't notice the man, crouched down, looking at a bottom shelf. She walked right into him, her foot catching his causing her to tumble forward. Luckily she had the good sense to hold tight to the bottles, and neither was harmed. The same couldn't be said for her cell phone that smashed as it hit the floor.

"Shit," she cursed as she picked up her broken phone, still not exactly sure what happened. She turned around and saw what she tripped over.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention," rushed out of her mouth as she saw the man, tall and muscular with chestnut hair and an air of being pissed off. From his worn jeans and boots to the flannel and plaid that covered his chest and arms, he screamed 'local' to her.

"Watch where you're going," he grumbled, dusting the dirty floor off of his pants. The grimace on his face turned to a half-smile as he took in his assailant.

She was shorter than him, but on the taller side, wearing perfectly fit jeans with some black utilitarian shoes. Her black hoody was zipped halfway up and revealing a deep red shirt underneath. She had golden hair pulled back away from her perfectly tanned face. She was biting her bottom lip, her mouth twisted in concern. And when he got to her eyes, they seemed like periwinkle skies that went on forever.

Her eyes met his stormy jade eyes and her expression immediately changed. She hadn't expected the depth and age she saw in his eyes, the triumph, the loss, the heartache, the raw power. She went from concerned to embarrassed and a blush painted her cheeks. The corners of her mouth did an uptick, forming a shy smile at the not-so-local.

"T-totally my fault," she stammered out, still a bit mesmerized by his handsome visage.

"Nobody's fault," he smiled wide, slightly amused by her embarrassment. "I'm Dean," he said as he stuck out his hand.

"Max," she responded, reaching for his hand, then giggling a little as she noticed both hands were full. She stuffed her broken phone in to the hoody's pocket and grabbed his hand.

The warmth and strength in his handshake reminded her about the promise she had made herself. She was going to be bold, daring, a destiny of her own choosing. She quickly turned her smile into one of confidence, even if it was just for show. Her eyes slightly widening as an idea hit her.

"Nice to meet you, Dean." She put special emphasis on his name. "Maybe I could buy you a drink?" She quickly added, "As an apology…"

Dean was taken a little off guard by her question. She didn't look like the women that usually asked him out and he wasn't looking for another relationship. There was also something innocent about her. That, along with all he had going on; his mom and Jack still being trapped in the other world, the threat of Michael and all the other monsters out there; left him hesitant to say yes. _But a distraction might be good…_

He looked at his watch. "Well, it's 10:30 and, if you haven't noticed, except for Bea, this town shuts down at 10:00. There's not really anywhere to get a drink," he concluded.

Max was not going to let herself be deterred. She took a deep breath and then replied, "Well, we could go back to my place for a drink. I wouldn't mind some help christening my new apartment." She held her breath waiting for him to respond.


	2. Now or Never

"Ohhhh," he replied, the Old Dean taking over at the thought of getting laid. "It would be my honor to assist you."

Max let out her breath, not knowing if she should be scared that she was actually doing this or excited that she was _actually doing this_! "Great!" she mustered all the enthusiasm she could to squelch her fears. Her practicality kicked in, "Do you have a car? I only ask because I walked here and didn't know if you'd just want directions, walk with me or me ride and navigate?"

Dean was appalled at the thought of leaving the Impala anywhere. "Why don't you ride and navigate?"

"Perfect," she responded with a little less enthusiasm. She was extremely nervous, although she wasn't fearful. He didn't give her any murdery feelings or anything and she was usually good at picking up on those things.

She grabbed the bottle of whiskey from his hand and headed to the register. "I'm buying," she insisted and Dean didn't stop her.

Outside the store, Dean led Max to where he had parked the Impala.

"Wow!" Max exclaimed. "That is a sweet car."

"Thanks," Dean smiled proudly. "Restored her myself," he told her as he opened the passenger side door.

"So you're good with your hands." She gave him a playful smile as she got into the car, placing the bag with the alcohol on the floorboard and wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans as she sat.

"I've been told." Dean closed the door and walked around to the driver's side.

Max quickly looked around the car. No signs of weapons, blood, body parts. It was near immaculate inside. She let out a loud breath before he slid into the driver's seat and they were on their way.

Her apartment was not far away, the ride only took a couple minutes, but it was a couple minutes of awkward silence. Both had questions they wanted to ask, but neither wanted to start. Dean, because he wasn't sure he wanted more information from what he planned to be a one night stand. Max because she was afraid her voice would fail her if she tried to say anything more than the directions.

The building was a little grungier than Dean expected. Based on her appearance and wine choice, he thought she would be living somewhere cleaner, brighter. Then again, this was Lebanon, Kansas. He had no doubt, though, that the inside of her apartment was bright and cheerful like her.

"I need to send a text, real quick," he told her as they got out of the car. "You go ahead, I'll just be a sec."

She nodded and started towards the stairs as he sent a quick text to Sam that he would be home late, if at all, and not to worry. He also sent the address where he was, because you just didn't know these days.

"So, why here?" Dean asked as he caught up to her on the stairs, his curiosity regarding what would bring anyone to this town finally getting the better of him.

"Well, my move was a quick one and this was the first thing I could find," she responded as she unlocked the door.

He let out a small laugh at her answer. "I meant, what brought you to Lebanon?"

She turned to look at him and grinned. "It's where the old gods and new gods come to parlay."

Dean raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Not a Neil Gaiman fan apparently…" she said, a little disappointed her joke didn't go over.

Dean still had a quizzical look on his face.

"It's from a book," she told him to dismiss the subject and then ushered him into her apartment.

Dean scanned the apartment. It was a wide-open space, a studio, with only two doors other than the front, that he guessed were the bathroom and a closet. There was a couch against one wall with a wooden coffee table in front of it. The kitchen was across the space from it, with a half-stove, cooktop and refrigerator. There were only a few cabinets and they were probably as bare as the rest of the apartment. It was still mostly boxes, but he could see a bed poking out from behind a screen just a few feet from the couch.

"I'm not finished decorating," she offered, not realizing how empty the place looked through someone else's eyes. This really was an impromptu invitation she hadn't fully thought out.

Dean just shrugged. Who was he to judge, really? He'd lived most of his life moving from motel to motel. The Bunker was the first real "home" he'd had since his mom died when he was four.

She walked over to the kitchen area and opened a cabinet that held a few glasses. "Wine or whiskey?" she asked.

"Whiskey, neat," he replied.

"I guess that was a dumb question. You don't really strike me as a wine type of guy."

She pulled out two tumblers from the cabinet and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. "Couch?" she tilted her head in its direction.

"Right," he said under his breath, feeling almost at a loss being in this woman's apartment. Normally his trysts happened in hotel rooms.

He happened to make it to the couch before she did, being just a little bit closer. He sat towards the middle, wanting to make sure the coffee table was square in front of him to put his glass on. When she reached the couch, she set the glasses and bottle on the table before sitting down. She sat next to him, slightly facing him, and ensuring that their legs were touching. It was hard for her to remember all the things a woman was supposed to do in a seduction.

She poured four fingers in each glass and then handed one to him.

"Salud," she toasted, raising her glass.

"Salud," he responded, clinking his glass with hers and then they both downed the whiskey. Dean had to admit, he was pretty impressed with a woman who could shoot whiskey.

She set her glass down on the table and he followed suit. As he sat back, he put his hand on her thigh and gave her his award-winning smile that he saved for situations just like this. She returned his smile with one that she hoped showed confidence and desire. She could feel heat off of his hand and it sent a shiver down her spine.

 _It's now or never,_ she thought. Then she leaned in and pressed her lips against his.


	3. I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

The moment Max's lips touched his, all of her misgivings melted away. For her, the whole world melted away except them—and her desire for him.

She deftly moved to straddling his lap, while taking minimum time away from his kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her elbows on his shoulders. She opened her mouth to take in his breath, which she found as inebriating as his kiss. And when his tongue darted into her mouth, she let out a small moan of ecstasy.

Dean, for his part, had mostly been playing along. Sure, Max was beautiful and there was something about her that piqued his interest, but she had been nervous all night, wavering back and forth about what she actually wanted from him. He had been pleasantly surprised when she sat so close to him. He was blown away when she actually made the first move and so soon! Not that he was complaining.

Her lips were soft and still held a slight hint of whiskey. And he found them almost as intoxicating. When she moved to his lap, well, let's just say the drink wasn't the only thing stiff that night.

As she wrapped her arms around his neck, he slid his hands around her waist. And he took the liberty of sliding his hands under her shirt when she let out her pleased moan. Her skin was soft and warm as he lightly ran his fingers over it, causing her to shiver again in delight.

With his hands on her bare skin, she felt like she was burning up. She tore her lips from his just long enough to remove her hoodie and t-shirt, revealing a plain black bra and a necklace with a gold pendant.

"Sexy," he teased, but quite enjoyed the view. He was letting her set the pace and so was delighted with the progress.

She playfully hit him. "Hey! I didn't expect to bring anyone home tonight, let alone be sitting in the lap of a gorgeous guy." Dean couldn't help it at this point, he liked her.

He started kissing down her neck, using his tongue to retrace his lips' path. He lingered at the base of her neck, feeling her squirm as he teased the sensitive skin. Her reactions felt genuine and rare, like there weren't many who had seen her like this. And that only fueled his desire more.

She loved the feel of his lips and hands on her skin, but she wanted to feel more of his skin against hers. For the moment she concluded that removing his shirt would be a good start. Not to mention it would even things up a bit.

She slowly pulled the front of his shirt out of his waistband and then hesitantly moved her hands under his shirt. His skin was hot to her touch. She glided her hands up his abdomen and down, her lust growing with every millimeter she covered.

With a feather-light touch, she ran her hands over his sides and up his back to his shoulder blades. Then she scratched down his back with her nails, so she could grab the hem of his shirt and pull it off. She froze when her fingers brushed the cold steel at the small of his back.

Dean has been lost in her touch and the taste of her skin when he noticed her stiffen. "Let me explain," he quickly got out as he realized she'd found his weapon. He mentally kicked himself for not leaving it in the car.

She leapt up from her position and was standing on the other side of the couch before the words had fully left his mouth.

"Fuck you!" she seethed. "You're a hunter."

Dean couldn't keep the shock from registering on his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but wisely closed it when he noticed the rage and confusion on her face.

She turned from him and he noticed a small tattoo near her spine, just below her bra. It looked like some sort of writing, but he couldn't figure it out.

She started mumbling to herself. "A hunter!" She paused, then added "Oh god. And not just any hunter," she wheeled back around towards him. " _Dean Winchester_ ," she hissed.

Even though she was facing him, she still seemed lost in her own thoughts. "How could I not know?" She looked down at the pendant resting between her breasts and pulled it off. The she flung it across the room. Dean was confident he saw it glow briefly as the chained snapped.

"Dean. Winchester," she repeated his name as if he was the devil himself. And that guy was a prick!

Dean had had enough. "What's your problem with me? You don't even know me!"

She looked at him like she had forgotten he was still in the room. "I know your kind. _Hunters_. You think you have the right to decide who lives and who dies based on your random moral standards." She jabbed her finger in his direction, "You have killed and murdered more than almost all the rest. Not caring that you are killing people, not just monsters."

Dean was indignant. "I've helped save the world…multiple times! The monsters that I dispose of are the murderers!"

"Those monsters," she started, "Were people once. They didn't ask to be how they are. And instead of trying to help them, trying to find a way to co-exist, you and your kind's only answer is a death sentence!"

Dean's head was reeling from the sudden change in events. He took a deep breath and stood up. "What is going on here?"

Max walked to the door, putting her hand on the knob. Then she replied in an eerily sweet voice, "I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to get THE HELL OUT!"


	4. Devil In a Blue Dress

Dean, never one to run from a fight, stood his ground. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Max stood with her one hand on the doorknob and the other on her hip. "The owner of this apartment. And I want you to leave!"

"Where do you get off calling me a murderer?" Dean angrily shouted, more because he knew she was right than anything else. But it still didn't give her the right. Who did she think she was?

"It's what you are!" She took a couple steps toward him, totally pissed off that he wouldn't budge and seeing everything she hated about herself in him. Her hands started to ball into fists.

"And how could you possibly know? Stories? Gossip? You've just met me!" Dean was not taking this shit tonight. All he had wanted was to get a bottle of whiskey and go home to drink, alone. But then she trips over him, one thing leads to another, the night turns interesting and then, bam! This! _What the hell, Fate?_ Dean thought.

Her eyes glowing with hatred, she took another step and a swing. Dean was surprised at her speed, but he still caught her fist before it made contact with his face.

Dean felt a jolt of pain and energy as her fist made contact with his hand. He took a step to catch himself, miraculously staying upright. It was a good thing too because Max's eyes rolled in to the back of head and she passed out. Had he not still been standing to catch her, she would have face planted on the coffee table. Dean was at a loss about what to do with the limp Max in his arms. His first instinct was to drop her on the floor and leave, but something inside just wouldn't let him.

Dean easily scooped her up and carried her over to the bed. He laid her down and covered her with a blanket because she was still just in her bra and he didn't need _that_ as a distraction. He thought about trying to restrain her because she was definitely something not human, but, not knowing what she was, he didn't know what would work.

He remembered the necklace she was wearing and wondered if that had something to do with this fiasco. When she wore it she was able to touch him—a lot—and there were sparks alright, but no energy blasts.

Dean scoured the corner where she threw the necklace, finding it after a few minutes of searching. He looked at the pendant, which at first seemed to be just a gold circle. When the light caught it, however, he could see a character inlayed in a white metal. It wasn't the same as the tattoo on her back, but it was similar in style.

Dean opened the jewelry box on her dresser, hoping to find a new chain to put the pendant on. Inside he found several choices and just picked up the one on top. Placing the pendant on the new chain, he left the broken one in the box.

"Why's the clasp got to be so small," he grumbled as he struggled to put the necklace on Max's unconscious body.

As soon as he succeeded, he took a step back and pulled out his gun. He pointed it in her direction not knowing what to expect, not knowing if the bullets would even harm her. But at least they could be a distraction.

Dean stood with his gun pointed for what felt like forever, but she never stirred. He thought about leaving, but really didn't want her to be walking around free if she hated hunters and was an unknown. He thought about taking her back to the bunker and warding the hell out of her, but didn't think it would be good for him to be seen in the middle of the night putting a lifeless woman in the back of his car. And he _really_ didn't want to call Sam or Cass, because he knew he'd never hear the end of it if he did.

Dean decided to search the apartment for anything he could use to set up wards where he was. He knew that everything he needed was in the Impala's trunk, but, with the way his night was going, she would wake up while he was outside, catch him off guard and then—no more Dean. So he decided not to chance it.

He found paint, chalk and salt. They would have to do. He started with a giant devil's trap in the middle of the floor, even though he really doubted she was a demon because he never saw black eyes. He dragged the bed with her on it, into the middle of the devil's trap, then went about drawing every ward and sigil he could remember.

He was sitting down with a couple fingers of whiskey when she started to stir. He grabbed his gun and pointed at her, not knowing what to expect.

Max felt the fog lifting. Her whole body was humming with energy. She tried to remember where she was, what had happened, but everything was just flashes. Her life. His life. All the years. All the pain. Hell. Purgatory. Hiding. Running. Figthing. Dying. The loss. The triumph. The fear. Family. Love. She had a hard time distinguishing hers from his. She sat up, shaking her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

"So what are you?" Dean said calmly and evenly from behind her.

Startled, she jumped out of bed and whirled around to face him. "What…How?" She stammered, her thoughts still not totally coherent.

"What. Are. You." Dean repeated slowly, setting down his whiskey as he stood up.

The sound of his voice, his eyes, and the glass hitting the table made all the pieces fall into place. Her face flushed and her eyes closed, remembering the feel of his lips on her skin. Her head dropped when her next actions came back to her. Her visions proving how wrong she was. The lies she'd been sold. When she lifted her head and opened her eyes, there were tears falling.

"Dean," her voice was shaky. "I am so sorry."

Dean wasn't swayed. "What. Are. You."

She let out a deep sigh. "I am human," she answered him, seeing the steel in his eyes.

"And?"

 _The easiest explanation,_ she thought to herself. "A natural witch."

Dean was skeptical. "Just a witch?"

"Just a witch," she repeated his words. "A very sorry, misinformed witch."

Dean's forgiveness was running low. "And the necklace?" He was going to find out everything he could while she seemed compliant.

She instinctively reached up to touch it and was surprised to actually find it there. She remembered tearing it off and throwing it. "A dampening charm."

Dean was a little confused. "Why?"

She gave him a wry smile. There was no easy answer to this question. "Because I'm a little rusty," was all she could think to say. "And I don't want to hurt anyone unintentionally, a la earlier."

This woman had done nothing but confuse Dean from the moment he met her. And her sudden change in attitude wasn't helping. In fact, it made him more suspicious. "What's with the attitude 180?"

The tears started to well up again. "I'll tell you, but you need to stop aiming your gun at me. The bullets won't hurt me anyway."

Dean looked down at the weapon in his hand. It was so instinctual; he had forgotten he was even holding it. Dean lowered it, knowing he didn't have witch-killing bullets in it anyway.

"Thank you," she blew out a breath.

"Attitude 180?" he repeated.

"When…" she paused, trying to figure out how to explain. "When we touched…," she hit her left hand with her right fist and then separated them, wiggling her fingers to symbolize the explosion.

Dean nodded in understanding.

"Somehow, all your memories transferred to me, causing me to have what basically amounts to a brain overload."

Now Dean was _really_ pissed. "You…copied _all_ my memories? How dare you!" He raised his gun again knowing that the bullets might not hurt her, but shooting her would at least be satisfying to him.

She held up her hands. "I had no idea that would happen," she insisted. "It's never happened before."

He didn't believe her nor did he care for her excuses.

"But your memories made me see that the information I had been given, what I had come to believe, was all lies, to manipulate me," she quickly added.

"Yeah, uh-huh," he replied. "A witch, who needs a dampening charm, was fooled by someone else."

"It's a lot more complicated than it sounds," she told him.

"Enlighten me."


	5. I Started A Joke

Max stood there, cursing the day she had been born. It wasn't the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last. Dean was right. She was powerful and yet so gullible. _When will I learn from my mistakes_?

Dean cleared his throat after she was silent for a minute. She seemed like she was lost in thought. He just hoped it was her thoughts and not his. God only knows what she would find in his memories.

Her eyes refocused on him. She knew she could trust him with the truth. She wanted to trust him with the truth. If anyone could understand, at least in part, it would be the man standing in front of her.

"Can I put a shirt on and sit down?" she requested, feeling extremely vulnerable and exposed. "My head is still swimming a little."

Dean nodded. Her heaving chest had been threatening to distract him since she stood up. Sure she was a witch, had lied to him _and_ illegally downloaded his memories, but she was still hot.

Max walked over to where her hoodie and t-shirt lay on the floor by the couch. She grabbed the red t-shirt and quickly slid it over her head. She motioned towards the couch in front of her as a request to sit there. Again Dean nodded and so she sat.

"So, this misinformation?"

"I had been…away…from the world for a while," she started, wanting to tell him the truth but there were just some things she wasn't ready to tell him, didn't know how to tell him.

"In outer space? A desert island? Hell?" Dean drolly responded wanting specifics.

A shudder racked her body at the mention of Hell. A memory solidified from all that had been jammed into her brain. She could feel the flesh being peeled from her bones, the parchness of her throat. Her ears were flooded with the cries of despair and pain. And behind it all a small sickening joy that she was the cause of some of those screams. _Dean_.

He saw the look in her eyes. "Stop right now. You have no right to my memories. I don't want anything from you but the truth. Save your pity for someone who gives a damn."

She wanted to tell him that she didn't pity him at all, but marveled at his strength. She knew what it was like to be a torturer and murderer, except her victims were innocents. And her sins broke her. She knew he wouldn't listen or believe her, so decided to go with her story.

"I was living off the grid, in China." _Not a lie_ , she assured herself. "And when I rejoined society, I was a little naïve about the ways the world had changed."

"It couldn't have changed that much," Dean interjected. "You couldn't have been away that long."

"150 years," she said softly, thinking she might as well get it over with. It's not like he could like her any less right now.

"What?!?" Dean was oh so unhappy.

Loud and clear she replied, "I was in a sort of stasis for 150 years. It was supposed to be longer." Like forever. "But there was a shift in the balance a few years ago and it broke the spell."

Just when Dean thought he couldn't be surprised anymore. "Exactly how old are you?"

 _No stopping now_ , she thought. "Oh, just, um, fifteen hundred and eighty or so."

Dean nearly choked. "Fifteen…..hundred?"

"Oh, come on!" she replied indignantly. "You know lots of people way older than me. I mean, you've hung out with G-, errr, Chuck and you have an angel as a best friend!"

She had a point. "But I've never made out with any of them!" Dean defended himself.

She gave him a knowing look.

"Hey, what happens in purgatory stays in purgatory," he warned.

She raised up her hands signaling she was giving up. "Yeah, I know it's a long time," she sounded defeated. "I don't generally let people know my age because then they find out about my abilities, and then they try to use me for whatever their agenda is. And I'm too stupid to not get stuck in the same pattern. I always think it'll be different."

There was something about that sadness in her voice and shame in her eyes that made a small chip in his wall. He knew the feeling of always trying to do what was right and most of the time it turning into a disaster. How many people had he trusted that had turned on him?

Nope, not going down this road, Dean told himself. "So, you were asleep for a century and a half and when you woke up…" Dean had to get this conversation back on track. He was _not_ going to like her.


	6. Burn the Witch

Max chastised herself for the millionth time that night. She should have known the night was going to go to hell. She had always been cautious for a reason. And this was it. For all her knowledge, for all her abilities, she sucked when it actually came to interacting with people.

"When I woke up, I was totally disorientated. I didn't know when I was or how I had even awaken," she told him. "I wandered around the Chinese countryside for a while, trying to figure it out, but there are parts of China that are still very primitive."

Dean looked at his watch. "Can I get the Cliff"s Notes version? It's almost morning and I haven't slept yet."

Max smiled slightly. He was a bit like a petulant child, demanding and single-minded. She wondered why she had ever changed that one track mind from the night's intended festivities. But here she was, a fighter and not a lover.

"Of course." She obliged him. "I resided in one of the villages for a time. They thought I was good luck because I entered their village on the eighth of the month wearing red. I used my abilities very little, but still word had gotten around regarding my presence and some people came looking for me."

"Some people?" Dean raised a questioning eyebrow.

"It was a coven," Max told him. "They convinced me that I needed to help them repair the world because hunters were destroying it. They told me about Lucifer escaping, the Leviathan, the Darkness."

"But we, _hunters_ , stopped all those and so much more," he wanted to set her straight.

"I know that now," she reassured him. "But then, I was still so angry. Hunters had killed my daughter to get to me and so I was willing to believe anything bad I heard. In my mind, all hunters were depraved animals."

Another crack formed. "Killed your daughter?" The look in Dean's eyes added a stitch to her broken heart.

Max nodded, "But I don't want to talk about Jin Ae right now." She tried to keep the tears from overwhelming her eyes.

Dean couldn't help himself, he placed a comforting hand on hers, which was resting on her knee. Pain and loss Dean knew well, but the loss of a child was something he hoped he'd never have to experience.

Dean blinked and when his eyes re-opened, he was standing in the middle of a village. It was definitely not modern nor was it American. He looked around, not having any idea what just happened. Then he saw her.

Max, dressed in a jeogori and chima, was kneeling and shaking on the ground, holding a dark-haired lifeless child. Blood stained both of them. Max cried out in pain and it ripped through Dean. He felt the anguish, the anger, the heartbreak, the murderous revenge. It was so strong, it brought him to his knees.

When Dean lifted his head, he saw two men walking towards Max and Jin Ae. He wanted to call out to warn her, but no sound came. All he could do was watch.

Each man had a large blade, already stained with blood. With a British accent, one said to the other, "I told you, kill the cub and mama bear will come out of hiding."

At the sound of his voice, Max looked up, her face eerily calm. She gently placed her daughter's still form on the ground and then stood. The men laughed, no doubt because they thought she would be an easy kill.

Max's eyes started glowing a pale indigo as the men advanced towards her, their blades ready for killing. She looked at them, raising her arms and squeezing her hands into fists. The men were lifted from the ground, each clawing as his throat.

"Burn," she hissed and the men caught fire, their screams silent as they had no air.

Dean felt the rage and hatred reflected in Max's actions. He could feel the power coursing through her as well and it seemed…familiar. Then there was a moment of triumph, of satisfaction, but it quickly turned to sorrow and regret. He knew, as she knew, that this wouldn't bring her treasure, her love, Jin Ae back.

Max fell to her knees and once again cradled the body of her dead child. The despair Dean shared with her took his breath away. And he tried, but he couldn't stop the tears that started to stream from his eyes.

"Dean, are you ok?" Max's voice called to him.

He blinked and was once again in her apartment, sitting on the couch. He quickly wiped the tears away from his eyes. "What.." Dean cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. "What just happened?"

Max's eyes were wide. "I don't know. You touched me and then a second later, you're crying. Do you hate me that much?"

Dean shook his head. "I…" he let out a sigh. "I saw your daughter's death. Experienced it. I am so sorry."

She nodded her thanks for his sympathy, knowing her voice wouldn't work. They sat there for a few moments in silence, while they both collected themselves.


	7. Don't Stop Believing

For once in his life, Dean Winchester had no words. Not only did he see all the pain and heartache in Max, but he saw himself in the hunters. He used to kill indiscriminately. If they weren't human, they died. He'd come a long way since those days, but her memory, it brought back some things he'd rather forget.

In their silence, Max pulled out her ponytail holder, shaking her hair loose. The golden waves cascaded down her back and shoulders with the telltale ponytail crease. She ran her hands through her hair trying to smooth it a little. The movement distracted Dean from his thoughts and left him wondering if her hair felt as soft as it looked. Wondering what it would look like…

 _Nope, not going there,_ he scolded himself. _But damn_!

Max reached for the bottle of whiskey and her empty glass. After pouring some she offered the bottle to him. "Need a fill-up?"

"Sure," he grabbed the bottle and poured himself a healthy cup.

After they both took a couple sips, Max continued her story. She told Dean about the coven, how they made her feel like she belonged, like she had family. Max talked about how they went across the world, killing hunters and anyone who helped the hunters.

"It wasn't until we came across a hunter who couldn't have been more than 20 and his pregnant girlfriend that I finally realized I had become the very thing I hated," she told him. "He was brave, not caring about his life but pleading for his girlfriend and their child. And I knew what I would have done to save Jin Ae. The coven wouldn't let her go, so I set up an illusion that made it look like I killed her."

Max paused to take a sip of whiskey. She didn't want to remember the rest, but knew she had to go on. "The head of the coven, Raven, had become suspicious of me because I had started to pull away from the rest of the group. I don't know why she decided to go back this time, but she did and found the girl still alive."

Again Max paused, finishing the drink. "On my part, I had forgotten the illusion charm I had used to make sure I fooled them, so I returned to get it. When I got there Raven had slit the girl's throat and was gutting her, pulling out the--" Max's eyes started to burn with fury.

Dean again touched her knee. "You don't have to go on. I got the picture."

Max looked at him with grateful eyes and swallowed hard. "I destroyed her right there. The surprise in her eyes made me giddy. I guess she didn't think I had it in me."

"What about the rest of the coven?" Dean was curious.

"I killed them too," Max told him. "I would have killed myself as well, but, been there. Nothing works."

Dean's brow furrowed. "You tried to kill yourself?"

Max sadly nodded. "After Jin Ae was murdered. She was the last straw. I had promised Yoon I would take care of her, keep her safe. But she died because of me."

"And Yoon is?"

"Jin Ae's birth mother. I was helping deliver Jin Ae because it was a complicated birth. Yoon knew she wasn't going to make it and made me promise to take Jin Ae as my own," Max said as if Dean should know. Then it hit her, "You just saw Jin Ae's death, didn't you?"

Dean nodded. Then asked, "And what do you mean 'nothing worked'?"

Max wished she hadn't said anything about it now, but she had told him so much and he actually listened. And she kind of wanted to tell him—someone. "I tried everything I could think of, every way I could imagine to kill myself, but..," she swept her hands from her head to her feet. "So I found a spell and put myself to sleep somewhere where no one would find me. I knew I couldn't do that again; it obviously didn't work. So I stayed at a convent for a year, took a vow of silence."

"Wait," Dean stopped her. "So you're a nun??"

Max smiled. "That would be a big 'no'. The convent ran a house for troubled women so they let me stay. I thought about it, but…it's not for me."

"Thank God," Dean accidentally said aloud.

Her smile grew wider.

Dean cleared his throat, a little uncomfortable. "I just mean…It would be awkward…."

It was her turn to pat his knee. "You don't have to explain. I like you too." The words slipped out before she realized what she was saying.

The both decided to ignore it, especially after the night they had just had.

Max turned her head and noticed the first rays of the sun peeking through her curtains. She stood and stretched her hands above her head. Dean did his best not to watch or notice the rise of her shirt hem as she bent back a little.

Dean stood up as well, feeling a bit stiff upon seeing her stretch. "Guess I should get going."

Max walked across the room to the kitchen. "So, we're good?"

"We're good," he told her. After all she shared, he knew she wasn't a danger to him or any other hunter. Plus, he kind of liked her.

She didn't really want him to go. "Don't want to stay for breakfast? A cup of coffee?"

Dean was tempted, but he was also tired as hell. He shook his head 'no'. "Gotta get home and get some rest," he told her, his yawn punctuating the sentiment. "Never know what the day may bring."

"Or trip to the liquor store," she jokingly added as she started a pot of coffee.

Dean walked to the door with her a couple steps behind. "Sorry about the…" he motioned at all the wards and sigils on her walls and floor.

"Understandable," she replied and moved to open the door for him.

As he started to walk through he turned back towards her. Simultaneously they said to each other, "If you ever need anything…" Then both laughed.

Max quickly hugged Dean and gave him a peck on the cheek, not knowing if she'd ever seen him again. "Stay safe," she told him, although she knew he wouldn't listen.

Dean nodded. "You too," he replied and slipped down the hall.

Max closed the door behind him. Her lips burning a little from the stubble on his cheek. She let out a sigh as she looked around her apartment. Then she snapped her fingers and all of Dean's handiwork disappeared while the bed returned to its original position. He hadn't totally figured her out, or if he did, he didn't let on.

Max was satisfied with herself as she slowly sipped her coffee. She had told him a little more than she intended, but, then again, she never expected she'd have accessed his entire memory. That was a new one on her.

She finished her coffee and realized she too was extremely tired. She changed in to some shorts and an oversized t-shirt before she headed to the bed. When she got to bed, she looked over at the couch and decided she would sleep there.

She got her pillow and a blanket, laying her head on the end of the couch where he had been sitting. There was still a faint trace of him and she inhaled it deeply. Max drifted off to sleep hoping she'd get to see him again.

Dean slipped down the hall, her small kiss lighting his cheek on fire. She was beautiful, dangerous, an unknown—all the things that he enjoyed the most. But he had no time for relationships. No future to promise anyone. The only thing he had to give was heartache and pain.

 _Should've just said no_ , he thought to himself, even as somewhere deep inside, her smile was planted in a long forgotten part of his heart, trying to take root.


End file.
